


This Side of Paradise

by spinninginfinityboy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Temptation, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinninginfinityboy/pseuds/spinninginfinityboy
Summary: “How do you get forgiven?”Aziraphale blinks. He hasn’t considered this, and certainly hadn’t been expecting to be asked about it so frankly. He’s also pretty certain Crowley must have an ulterior motive here, but for the life of him he doesn’t know what it might be. Besides, he’s an angel. Helping sinners is… well, it’s what he’s meant for.“Well you could always try… kneeling.” That sounded good. Warming to his theme, Aziraphale continues. “Yes, you kneel, and you appreciate all that is beautiful in Her creation. You apologize for your sins – repent, as it were. And then you pledge to devote yourself to God, or to a saint or an angel. And She forgives you.”A wicked smirk crosses Crowley’s face, his eyes flashing with hellfire.“Kneeling,” he says, rolling the word around his mouth as though tasting it. “I could kneel. If that’s what you suggest.”





	This Side of Paradise

The Wall is a flat, boring expanse precisely 21,126 paces in circumference. Aziraphale knows this is true. He’s spent the past week anxiously pacing around it, in both directions.

Ever since the humans left, flaming sword in hand, he’s been waiting for the other sandal to drop. Surely someone from Above will be arriving any minute now to check up on things, and then they’d find out, and that would most surely mean consequences. And yet day after day goes by, and he’s heard nothing from anyone. Or, at least, nothing from Above. He’s heard something from… elsewhere.

Crawley had been spending a lot of time in Eden, recently, which meant by proxy he was spending a lot of time around Aziraphale. At first he had rebelled at the very idea of talking to the demon. That sort of thing could probably get him in a lot of trouble. But then, so could giving away an enchanted sword, not to mention watching the humans eat from the tree of knowledge, and there was just nothing else to do. So they had talked, a lot in fact, and walked the wall together, and taken turns observing how the humans were getting on. It wasn’t like they were friends. It just passed the time.

Aziraphale has even constructed an excuse for it, just in case someone does try to talk to him about it. He’s feigning friendship, yes, because in actuality he’s been surreptitiously gathering intelligence on occult and sinister plans. Alright, so far the only plan he’s gathered has been that the demon is thinking of changing his name to Crowley, but that’s not the point.

Currently the two of them are sitting side by side, looking out over the Garden. Aziraphale swings his heels contentedly, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin. It would all be perfectly peaceful, if Crowley would just shut up.

“It’s so… beautiful,” he says, sounding somewhere between awed and disgusted. Aziraphale nods, replying without too much thought.

“Yes, it is.”

“Idyllic.”

“Absolutely.”

“Unbelievably boring.”

That catches Aziraphale off guard. He opens his eyes, blinking in the sudden light, and turns to look at Crowley.

“I beg your pardon?”

With a sweeping movement of his arms, Crowley gestures to the garden spread out below them.

“I mean, look at it! This whole place full of trees and birds, a perfect patch of earth, and not a single conscious thought in the place. Nobody to appreciate it.”

“I suppose,” concedes Aziraphale, considering. “But it was designed for the humans. This is theirs. It’s up to them what to do with it. Now that they, you know…”

“Free will?” Crowley says, turning to face him. Aziraphale blushes a little at the reminder of his mistake.

“Alright, don’t rub it in. I still don’t know it’s all so bad, really. Anyway, now it’s empty.”

There’s a wicked glint in Crowley’s eye as he takes this in, tilting his head to the side in a movement just a little too fluid to be human. A serpent, basking on the rocks. He stretches, hums a little in thought, then faces Aziraphale again.

“Well, we could always… give it a little life. You know. Make it a bit more interesting,” he says, doing his best impression of nonchalance. “Perfect vision of Paradise, completely unoccupied, be a shame to waste it.”

“Paradise is not for my enjoyment,” Aziraphale replies indignantly. “I am to guard it. Stand by the gates and ensure its safety.”

Annoyance huffs from him as Crowley laughs, head back and red locks flowing in the breeze.

“Well you’re doing a fantastic job of that, aren’t you? Humans got out, and a demon got in. That’s definitely going to go down well Upstairs.” He stands like a liquid somehow being poured upwards, unfurling his body and wings with uncanny grace. A few small pebbles clatter down the inside of the wall as Crowley turns around, stands facing Aziraphale with his heels over the edge. “And I am going to have my way with this place. Unless, of course, you were to stop me.”

With that he takes off, soaring down and vanishing into the endless greenery, not running, but moving with unnatural swiftness. Before Aziraphale is quite certain what has happened, Crowley has disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a lingering smell of brimstone and a faint sense of exasperation. Chasing him down seems so undignified, and for a moment Aziraphale is left wrestling with himself. Even just entering the garden might get him in trouble, and to add a demon on top of that… it hardly bears thinking about the trouble he might get in. But surely catching a demon in paradise would be the most important task.

With that thought in mind Aziraphale reluctantly steps from the wall, gliding down to land in approximately the same spot as Crowley. He’s not even sure if someone has technically gotten round to inventing jogging yet – that’s the trouble with heaven, past and future can get to be rather tricky concepts if you aren’t giving it your full attention – but he’s sure when it does become popular, he’s going to hate it. Not quite so much as he hates the thought of letting a demon run unsupervised through Paradise, though.  
The dirt is moist and fertile beneath Aziraphale’s feet, perfectly created to nourish and nurture the plants which spring from it, astonishingly high and thick. It slows his movements, sucking at his feet as he tries to figure out exactly where Crowley might have disappeared to. Every perfectly formed branch seems determined to snag at his robes, threaten to tear them. It’s hardly fair. Gardens like this are for strolling idly through, and his body is made for relaxing. Neither is particularly happy to find him running. 

“Oh, bugger all this for a lark,” he mutters to himself. Aziraphale skids to a stop and closes his eyes, leaning against a tall oak tree. Screwing his eyes shut, he concentrates.

Everything in the garden has a certain energy to it, and while as an angel he can see the joy, the soul in everything, plants and birds ring differently than a dashingly handsome rogue demon. With a little focus it’s easy enough to figure out where Crowley is. He’s out by the hole, the place the humans had climbed through. It isn’t too far, but unease twists in Aziraphale’s chest at the thought of returning there. He takes his time picking his way through the wildflowers.

Still, he comes upon Crowley far too soon. He doesn’t seem to be assisting evil to reign supreme, or even to be causing mischief. The demon is simply standing in a clearing, gazing at the hole in the wall of Paradise. His head twitches slightly at the sound of Aziraphale approaching.

“Does it frighten you?” he asks, without turning round. Flowers part gently beneath Aziraphale’s feet as he approaches, stopping a few feet behind Crowley. The desert is wide and accusatory as it gazes in through the hole.

“What?”

“Does it frighten you?” repeats Crowley, turning to look at Aziraphale. Here, face to face, Aziraphale is a little taken aback by his serpentine eyes. After spending the majority of their time side by side, it’s unsettling to be looked at directly like this. Crowley runs a hand through his hair before continuing, his wings fluttering with uncertainty. “I mean, don’t you think they might banish you? Or worse, I mean, I don’t know if you’ve seen the things they can do with holy water and infernal fire, but it isn’t pretty.”

“Banish… me?”

Panic stirs in Aziraphale, and he shakes his head frantically.

“Oh, no. They wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t they?”

Crowley takes a step closer, as though testing the distance between them. A distant anger burns behind his eyes. 

“I mean, asking questions was what did it for me. That’s practically harmless, trying to ask a question. You gave the humans a flaming sword and an escape route. Seems to me that you might be the one next in line for punishment.”

“No,” replies Aziraphale, desperately trying to quash the rising sense of unease in his stomach. “No, because angels are… because we- we forgive. We forgive people of their sins.”

“Oh do you?”

Closer, now, eye to eye. Aziraphale feels his heartbeat quicken, and frowns slightly, because the heartbeat isn’t even necessary and it definitely shouldn’t be reacting like that. Crowley hesitates, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. When he continues, it’s with a tremor.

“How?”

“How?” echoes Aziraphale, frown creasing his brow.

“How do you get forgiven?”

Aziraphale blinks. He hasn’t considered this, and certainly hadn’t been expecting to be asked about it so frankly. He’s also pretty certain Crowley must have an ulterior motive here, but for the life of him he doesn’t know what it might be. Besides, he’s an angel. Helping sinners is… well, it’s what he’s meant for.

“You simply ask.”

“Asking is what got me into this mess in the first place, angel.”

Aziraphale stubbornly doesn’t shiver at the sound of the term, stuck between cold fact and the warm ring of endearment.

“Well you could always try… kneeling.” That sounded good. Warming to his theme, Aziraphale continues. “Yes, you kneel, and you appreciate all that is beautiful in Her creation. You apologize for your sins – repent, as it were. And then you pledge to devote yourself to God, or to a saint or an angel. And She forgives you.”

He smiles, rather pleased with himself, and watches the effect that his words are having. Crowley considers the pronouncement for a long moment, forked tongue flickering over his lips. Pink and wet. Aziraphale finds his own mouth going dry. After a few seconds a wicked smirk crosses Crowley’s face, his eyes flashing with hellfire.

“Kneeling,” he says, rolling the word around his mouth as though tasting it. “I could kneel. If that’s what you suggest.”

Something hot rushes through Aziraphale, starting with a flush at the tips of his ears and ending by coiling deep in his abdomen. He shivers, watching helplessly as Crowley crouches, kneels in the soft mud by Aziraphale’s feet. When he looks up to meet the angel’s eyes, the shock feels almost physical. Aziraphale knows he hasn’t felt this before, but that doesn’t mean he is incapable of recognizing it.

“Are you trying to- to tempt me? I am an angel! This is Eden!”

Crowley grins a wicked, lopsided grin.

“Oh come now angel, it’s hardly a temptation. I’m kneeling here, pledging my devotion, in the hopes my soul will be saved. That’s what you lot are supposed to do, isn’t it? Save a soul from being damned?”

Long fingers stretch out, fluttering around Aziraphale’s robes. Crowley seems almost afraid to touch.

“May I?”

He looks up, staring at Aziraphale with a look which, if Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he would say to be one of unrepentant adoration. That can’t be right. It must be repentant somehow, and demons are hardly known for their adoration. Crowley shakes his head slightly, as though he’s shaking something loose.

“Am I supposed to beg for my… forgiveness?”

Nobody should be able to make that sentence sound seductive. Crowley’s serpentine eyes flicker over Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks, and he carries on.

“Give me anything to work with, angel. Whatever you like. If this is about serving an angel, then it only matters what you like.”

“That’s an indulgence,” he tries to reply, but the words catch in his throat. “Crowley, we’ve hardly known each other, She hasn’t even gotten round to months yet.”

“Oh, Aziraphale,” says Crowley. A truly sinful spark of want shoots through him as he realizes this is the first time Crowley has used his name. “We’ve known each other for all eternity.”

The indulgence is a thrill in and of itself. Aziraphale hardly believes himself when he speaks.

“So seek your forgiveness.”

A surge of heat tinged with brimstone rolls off of Crowley, his eager hands finding their way onto Aziraphale’s thighs. It stirs a heady delight to think about the demon’s enthusiasm. The lust.

Give him anything to work with, Crowley had said, had asked how best to please him. Sex had only recently been invented, but the humans had certainly taken quite a shine to it. They’d gotten quite creative. Aziraphale hadn’t been watching, heaven no, but well. It was his duty to keep tabs. And there were certain things, certain… acts that had seemed particularly pleasurable. Aziraphale feels the familiar chill of his form shifting, settling into its new shape as Crowley carefully slides his hands upwards. The arousal feels different now it has something to, well, arouse. The sensation is foreign and yet instinctively familiar. Every touch on his skin feels like drinking coffee made too hot, the soft fabric of his robes a soothing caress as it is pushed aside.

“Good choice,” murmurs Crowley appreciatively. Aziraphale flushes slightly. It’s gratifying to hear his efforts aren’t going unnoticed, and for a rushed work, he does think he made a rather good job of it. The soft fuzz of hair matches that on his head, small golden-white curls, and when Crowley buries his face in it Aziraphale lets out an embarrassing whine.

“This is penance?” he says softly, nosing across the hair and lower, hissing as he tastes the smell of Aziraphale’s desire.

“Penance, dear demon, involves asking for your forgiveness.” 

It’s a real effort to keep his voice sounding steady. It’s also an effort to remain restrained and on task. For all that he was new to the concept at the beginning of the day, he’s rapidly coming to the conclusion that he would very much like to fist his hands in those flowing locks and show Crowley the true meaning of submission before an angel. Crowley, it seems, is in agreement.

“I kneel here before you,” Crowley murmurs, mouth moving softly across Aziraphale’s thigh. Every syllable comes out as a flicker of his tongue, a gentle press of lips or scrape of pointed teeth. The touches make him tremble. “I beg of you, O Angel, to save my soul.” His tongue darts briefly upwards and Aziraphale shivers with anticipation. He can feel himself, in a vague sort of way; feels wetness gathering, feels new muscles twitch. Crowley’s hot breath on his skin sparks and skitters. “I pledge myself to you, body and soul, here in this most beautiful of Her creations. To you, Angel, most beautiful of Her creations. With my hands I will clasp, with my mouth I will worship…”

This is blasphemy, thinks Aziraphale through a dizzying haze of want, he’s really feeling like this about blasphemy. He does so wish Crowley would do it again. Would do more.

As though reading his mind Crowley hisses, forked tongue whispering across Aziraphale’s clit so quickly that his knees tremble. He hears himself gasp something unintelligible.

“What was that, angel?” asks Crowley, pulling back slightly.

“More,” he manages to respond. In a moment of selfish bravery, Aziraphale hesitates, then buries his hands in Crowley’s long, flowing hair. The effect it has is instantaneous. Crowley growls something primal and dives in with enthusiasm. His tongue slides expertly over Aziraphale’s clit again, gentle, easing him into the new sensations. It feels like a blessing from somewhere other than heaven. When Aziraphale reacts by pulling harder on Crowley’s hair it results in a change of pace from gentle licking into a more determined sucking. Aziraphale cries out.

“Too much, Crowley, too fast-“

Immediately Crowley retreats, whispering apologies across Aziraphale’s skin.

“Forgive me, Angel.”

It’s somewhere between a flippant comment and a plea, and it makes Aziraphale shudder hot and cold. Crowley repeats the phrase, over and over until it starts to lose meaning, lost in Aziraphale’s slick folds, whispered around his clit until Aziraphale finds himself saying things an angel should never be heard to say. It’s unbearable, too much and not enough and suddenly Aziraphale feels fear. He clutches tight at Crowley’s hair and urges him upright. The question burns in Crowley’s eyes and Aziraphale hushes him.

“Angel, what-“

Realising that there’s no way he can shut Crowley up so long as he has the use of his mouth, Aziraphale surges forward to kiss him.

It’s messy and ungraceful, and lasts only a moment, but it’s a very emphatic statement. The only trouble is, Aziraphale doesn’t know what it is he’s saying. There’s the sin of lust, he knows that, and an angel can get into trouble for that sort of thing. There’s also a desperate need to forgive. Crowley on his knees with an angel ready to smite him is quite one thing, but the cruelty of his treatment – the terror of risking the same fate himself – stirs up such intensity of empathy that it hurts. The urge to punish, the longing to forgive, they are at war within him and it seems like kissing Crowley is, for the moment, the right thing to do.

“Your… your forgiveness,” Aziraphale says, words tumbling out in the hopes he can say what he needs to before Crowley catches his breath. “It involves you pledging to do as an angel wishes, correct?”

Crowley nods and Aziraphale presses determinedly on.

“I wish to see you. To look at you, and to touch you.”

“Yes,” replies Crowley, with a sound reminiscent of choking. “I mean, please. Do, uh, do as you wish. With me.”

It’s something, Aziraphale supposes, but it still isn’t right. He pushes a little further.

“I want you to look at me, Crowley. I want to know that you mean it.”

“Mean..?”

A part of Aziraphale wishes he’d thought of this sooner. Crowley is finally, gratifyingly, speechless. The kissing helps keep him that way, and Aziraphale shudders at the flicker of Crowley’s tongue over his lower lip. It’s much nicer this way, he thinks, as a more active participant. He can sense Crowley’s desire to do something more, something else. A little vague on what the something may be, yes, but it is inarguable that Crowley wants it, and wants it with an intensity which Aziraphale can hardly fathom.

He hesitates. This part is too vague, too uncertain. What would Crowley assume was right? How should he know? Picking up on his unease Crowley leans his head in, presses his forehead to Aziraphale’s. It’s a remarkably tender gesture, one which absolutely doesn’t make Aziraphale’s breath catch and falter.

“Show me,” he breathes. “Show me, angel, show me what to do.”

The indulgence of it, the selfish luxury is heavy and unfamiliar to Aziraphale.

“Angel,” Crowley repeats, in a voice low and warm that melts over Aziraphale like honey. 

Slowly, a piece at a time, Aziraphale allows himself to picture it, to imagine what might feel good, and Crowley’s mind brushes up around the edges of his fantasy. Aziraphale almost falls to his own knees at the intimacy of the touch, the startling feeling of being known by the demon. Of allowing himself to be known, even for such a brief instant. Somehow he had expected Crowley’s mind to be dangerous, tainted from his Fall, but it feels almost entirely like that of any other angel. The difference seems mostly to lie in the way Crowley’s thoughts are entirely unpredictable.

“Okay,” he says, as he coils reverently around the images Aziraphale is conjuring. “I can do that.”

He meets Aziraphale with a kiss that sears hot, pulls him close. It’s a little rougher than before but that, Aziraphale admits to himself, might have been part of his request. With a little awkward maneuvering, but no stumbling – the garden is perfectly comfortable to walk through, with no inconveniently placed rocks or tree roots – they move together, until Aziraphale is pressed firmly up against the Wall with Crowley kissing his neck. It truly does feel heavenly. Everywhere Crowley touches him Aziraphale feels a whisper, a voice unspoken asking if he’s doing this right, doing what Aziraphale wants.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies. It’s hard to say for sure whether or not he does so out loud. Crowley moans softly and shifts against him. There’s a new addition to his body, one which is quite insistently seeking attention. Aziraphale knows without looking that it will be exactly to his liking. A low, undignified noise slips from his throat. Crowley bites down gently right where it originated, and coaxes a second, louder sound from him.

“Crowley,” he says, a stern note to the word. “Is this what I asked? That will leave a mark.” 

“’m sorry,” mumbles Crowley. He kisses at the mark, barely a pinkish tint to the skin but the soothing, apologetic gesture strikes something in Aziraphale. It’s a surprisingly caring action for a demon. Maybe he really does want Aziraphale’s forgiveness. And so, then, it follows that maybe Aziraphale should give him the chance to earn it.

“So fuck me,” he says, surprising himself more than anything at the sound of his voice, low and rough and commanding. Crowley growls something low and primal as he pulls at first Aziraphale’s robes and then his own, pressing against Aziraphale. Even the first touch of skin against skin is burning. Aziraphale shudders and leans back, scrabbling at the brickwork for support.

“Aziraphale,” he gasps, “may I, may I-“

“Fuck me,” repeats Aziraphale, and pulls Crowley close. With his eyes shut tight in concentration, the demon slides his cock carefully into him. The sensation of being filled is overwhelming; Aziraphale tips his head back and lets out a low, shuddering sigh.

“Oh, Crowley… that is… that is heavenly.”

He really isn’t trying to do anything other than articulate what the sensation feels like, but it gets a far greater reaction than Aziraphale could have expected. Crowley whimpers, buries his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder as he start to rock his hips. The sensation makes Aziraphale hum approvingly.

“Yes, like that- like that, that’s what I want.”

The sound Crowley makes sounds almost like a sob.

“Aziraphale…”

All at once the reality of the situation hits Aziraphale; not the sinful nature of it, but the bare facts. He has a demon, the demon of original sin, completely at his mercy. A demon begging for forgiveness and begging to please Aziraphale. As an angel, he would be cruel to deny him, and he can never be cruel.  
Aziraphale reaches out, trusting Crowley’s body weight to keep him upright, and tangles one hand in Crowley’s long hair. With the other, he strokes the length of Crowley’s wings. Crowley sobs again

“Pleasssse,” he groans.

“What is it, dear?” Aziraphale says, soft in Crowley’s ear. “Do you want to be forgiven? Or punished?”

“Both-“

The word is choked off, bitten back before Crowley could admit to it, but Aziraphale heard. Words pile up on his tongue and spill over in a steady stream.

“Oh, Crowley, I’m so glad you changed your name. Crawling in the dirt never suited you. Though, I must admit, it was a sight to behold. Seeing you there, kneeling, begging to touch me. Begging me to touch you, isn’t that right?”

“Yesssss,” hisses Crowley, head buried against Aziraphale’s neck.

“And you’re doing so well. So well, my dear, but please- ah!- a little more, use your hands on me, because I know how badly you want, you deserve, to finish, and we can’t have you finishing before I do, can we?”

“Angel, angel-“

It’s a prayer, as Crowley slides one hand between them to gently stroke at Aziraphale’s clit in tandem with his thrusts. It’s such an intensity of sensation that Aziraphale cries out and clutches at Crowley’s hair.

“Yes, Crowley, yes like- oh, just like that, that’s wonderful, it- oh, don’t you dare stop, I swear I will smite you on the spot if you stop.”

With a moan that sounds almost agonized, Crowley speeds up his movements, kissing Aziraphale’s neck to muffle the sounds he’s making. He tips his head back to allow him better access and surrenders entirely to the sensations, to the strange new feeling building inside of him. Just when he feels it might all be too much, something releases, and he cries out again in ecstasy as his whole body shudders. This must be why the humans enjoyed it so much.

Crowley’s hips are still pushing against him, his cock sliding into Aziraphale and setting off electric aftershocks with each movement. His begging has become almost incoherent. Aziraphale strokes his hair and murmurs into his ear.

“It’s okay, my dear.”

Crowley sobs, his hips stuttering, and Aziraphale feels the demon’s release just before he sags, boneless, against his chest. On instinct he brings up his arms and holds Crowley in a close embrace, their bodies still joined.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley pants out.

“Hush, darling,” he replies, “You did wonderfully.”

He strokes Crowley’s back, the downy feathers of his wings, and kisses his temple. The demon sobs again, clinging to him like he needs every touch Aziraphale can give him. Aziraphale isn’t certain what this is, what Crowley is doing, but he knows it’s intimate. After a moment Crowley seems to remember himself enough to step back and clean them both up, and with his renewed self-awareness comes renewed self-consciousness. He coughs.

“So, that one’ll earn me some bonus points with the higher-ups. Lower-downs. You know what I mean.”

He can’t bring himself to meet Aziraphale’s eyes and he’s babbling in the vain hope it will stop him from noticing the choked-back tears thick in his voice.

“Tempted an angel. Yep. Good job, Crowley. We love making trouble down there, and this, whoo, that’s a motherlode of trouble. A real Heavenly Motherlode.”

“Crowley.”

“No, angel, no I- I think I’m going to go now.” He looks past Aziraphale, out across the desert across which Adam and Eve disappeared long ago. “Might follow them.”  
It’s too much for Aziraphale to process, too much happening now when all he wants is to soothe Crowley of the pain he seems to be carrying. Aziraphale never meant to be cruel and yet somehow he seems to have managed. Still, he doesn’t feel right, leaving Crowley in this state.

“What… leave paradise so soon?” 

The undercurrent of _Leave me so soon?_ goes unspoken, but Aziraphale can feel it sitting heavy in his chest. Hesitantly, looking as though he might bolt at any moment, Crowley looks up at him. His body language could almost be considered nonchalant if it wasn’t for the tears streaking his face.

“I mean… Well, I mean, you could always come with me. Out there, in the world. Two humans and a demon. Could get up to all sorts of trouble. And there’s nothing here still to guard.”

“But I was sent here. To Eden.”

“You were sent to the humans. Now I’m gonna go with them, with nobody to thwart my terrible wiles. The tree may have invented sex, but I’m pretty sure I could invent a three-way, if I tried. And that’s just for starters.”

An undercurrent of fear and something akin to anger is just barely holding Crowley’s words together. Aziraphale bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he thinks.

“I suppose if I am to stop you from… from your wiles, then I should at least be nearby.”

Crowley’s eyes shine bright and anxious. The thought of stepping away from his side now seems abhorrent. Aziraphale’s mind is already made up when he says “And perhaps you will have another shot at forgiveness.”

Slowly, as though afraid of being tricked, Crowley smiles.

“Perhaps. Let’s go, angel.”


End file.
